Rising Shadows Marring Light
by Ramzes
Summary: A rebellion was squashed and a good king kept ruling as justly as before, with no shadows marring the light of his reign. At least that's what the smallfolk thought. To Daeron II and his family, the aftermath of the First Blackfyre Rebellion was anything but. A prequel to A Dragon Expendable.
1. Chapter 1

_Rising Shadows Marring Light_

Chapter 1

Once, the pain had been bothering him only when he had been long seated or standing without a rest. Or when weather changed. For a good number of years, though, it had been plaguing him almost daily, waiting to invade his life as soon as he lowered his guard – and Daeron couldn't keep his guard and serve his body when he had a kingdom to rule. Seven of them! As a result, attending the evening feast was ever so often like a prolonged torture that he could barely wait to be over so they could retire and he could lie down and let Mariah rub his back, filling their chamber with the fragrance of pain-numbing oils. And after Daemon's rebellion had been put down, his load seemed to have increased. Still, there was the last day of the week when there were no councils, no work for anyone, him included. He spent those mornings in bed, too weary to wish to rise, happy to be with Mariah without any imminent tasks ahead of him, and sometimes he woke up even earlier than usual, just to savour this day of rest longer and listen to her breathe. But today, she had woken up almost as early as him, reaching for him almost absent-mindedly. That had become a habit for them in the morning, her hand on his back, stroking ever so slightly, as if she could straighten it.

Her silence went on for so long that he would have turned to her to make sure that she hadn't gone back to sleep, were it not for the hand stroking small circles across his back, the way that soothed the pain before it truly started.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked, took his glass from the coffer at his side of the bed and handed it to her. At night, Mariah often burned with thirst and he knew that her own glass and ewer would be empty by now. She took a few small sips.

"There was another one," she said.

Daeron didn't need to ask what she was talking about. He reached out and drew her closer. There were still so many women seeking her out – women widowed in the rebellion and terrified that the Iron Throne would deprive them of their husbands' property, as was Daeron's right to impose as a punishment for treason, women who came to beg for mercy, to beg Mariah to plead with Daeron not to take their children as hostages, and those who were most deserving of pity – those whose husbands and sons were still alive but had fled with Aegor, leaving them on whatever fate the victors chose them. But there was only one kind of woman that could get Mariah this upset. The women who tried to appeal to her by arriving with their small children in tow or in their arms…

"Lady Peake," she said.

"Out of question," Daeron said without thinking twice. Gormon Peake would give _two_ hostages in King's Landing. Daeron was well aware about his part in the conspiracy aiming to steal the throne for Daemon.

"That's what I told her," Mariah replied. She had never chosen to hide behind his authority, promise things that she wouldn't do. "And still, she upset me."

As much as Daeron pitied the women coming to her, this kind of ploy left him devoid of compassion, for it saddened her, brought her back twenty and odd years ago. No one had had pity on her as his father had attacked Dorne as she had been growing great with child. Many of thise who now came to beg had gleefully shared in the predictions that the Dornish princess would give birth to a deformed monster. She had been so lonely, so isolated.

"You didn't promise her anything, though?" Daeron asked, quite needlessly.

"Of course I didn't," Mariah said immediately and paused. "I couldn't help but think how close it was. It could have been Jena in her place. It could have been Dyanna."

They went silent. They both knew that their gooddaughters would not have received any mercy, their children murdered long before they even had a chance to plead. Even Daenerys' children… That's about the extent of love Daemon claimed to have for her, Daeron thought cynically and his mind immediately rushed to another pressing concern. The Princess of Dragonstone was with child again and given her many miscarriages, there was an equal chance of a healthy birth or another loss. Matarys was not even a year old and Daeron hoped fervently that the curse of such heartbreak had finally been lifted from Jena and Baelor. And the realm. But he didn't know.

There was a sudden smile on Mariah's face but it was not him that she was smiling at. She was smiling at some thought of hers, her eyes soft and wistful. "What?" he asked.

She looked at him. "Dyanna is with child," she said.

Daeron's first reaction was joy. Joy and relief. He loved his grandsons as much as his sons and sometimes even more. And then, joy slowly faded a little, swept by the grim foreboding of a conflict that he prayed would never come to be, and a contrast that he did and did not want to come to pass at the same time.

Jena bled the child at the same time Dyanna's belly started curving more visibly, so rapidly that she had to add additional panels to some of her gowns as the seamstresses hurried to sew her some more. Actually, the Grand Maester had left her chambers after confirming that she was doing great just in time to be summoned in a hurry, a helpless witness to the death of yet another of Jena's babes, this one so early on that it was impossible to say if it had been a boy. But there was little doubt in anyone's heart that Dyanna's child would be a son.

"The Prince got saddled with the wrong woman," men and women would whisper in the halls of the Red Keep, in the streets and brothels. "She of the disfigured form is more competent than the healthy one in keeping her babes in the womb."

"How long is it going to be before we're doomed to a new rebellion?" others would ask. "Or even something befalling Prince Baelor's sons? A child's life is always hanging on a thread and the Princess isn't going to give him a third son."

"Is it the hand of the Seven spread over the Dornish lady?" third would wonder. "She should not have lived, yet she blooms as she swells with this child. Is it the sign of the gods' favour for her and hers? Because she's of such loveliness and she's always served those who need it?"

In the Red Keep, they tried to keep those talks away from Baelor and Jena but the Master of Whisperers made no secret of them to Daeron. "The fools predict a war already," he would say, his single eye giving a dark glitter. "I say we punish those who speak treason."

"Those are only uneducated rumours," Daeron always replied and yet he could see Maekar's growing rage and the angry envy whenever Baelor happened to look at Dyanna in the halls. Slowly, the evil notion started taking roots in his mind, as hard as he fought it. People had talked about Daemon trying to seize the throne long before it became even a viable possibility in his mind and his counselors' minds. Would they turn out to be right again? The rumours of the Seven having withdrawn their blessing from his family were nothing new, only this time Dyanna had turned from a cursed one to a blessed one. What if one day… no, that was impossible. And still, what if? No, not Maekar, of course. He was loyal. He would never reach for something that wasn't his. But he did feel wronged, and in many ways he was far more justified than Daemon. All the acclaim for Redgrass Field had gone to Baelor. Daeron might not be a warrior but he knew enough to be aware that Maekar had been given the harder task. It was always easier to attack than defend, withstand. And he had received such a small part of the recognition he deserved.

Still, that didn't mean that he would follow in Daemon's footsteps. But if he changed one day? If enough people decided that Valarr wasn't what they wanted in a king and threw their support behind his cousins instead? Of course, Baelor was beloved while no one could say such a thing about Maekar – but coming on the thone, he'd create enemies even in some of those who were now his friends. What if Maekar's heart changed? If only Dyanna gave birth to a son, he'd be able to show the promise of a stable succession, with a queen who was just as beloved as Baelor. Yes, Dyanna knew how to win hearts and minds. Not that she had ever tried to undermine anyone.

When he tried to share some of those concerns with Mariah, he was met with disbelief and anger, and for just a second time in their life together, lack of love so distinct that it froze the room all over.

"Did you just compare Maekar to Daemon Blackfyre?" she asked and while he rushed to explain that he had meant no such thing, he realized that in this, he would not receive a sound advice. When he reached for her hand, she shook his away angrily. She would not hear him and that left him even less clear with his own ideas, fears, hopes. "Are you hoping that Dyanna loses the child?" she asked straightforwardly and cruelly. "Is _this_ going to make you happy?"

"No!" he answered immediately, shame choking him because he wasn't entirely sure that it was true. He hoped that Dyanna gave them a girl child while only a few years ago, his hopes had been for a living one.

The suspicion still lingered in Mariah's eyes. "You've got no shame…" she spat and Daeron knew that she had gone back in those terrible days about a year ago when they had still been unsure that Maekar wouldn't lose an arm to the grievous wound that he had sustained defending Daeron's throne. She rose from her chair. "I'm going to my chambers," she said when she saw his surprise. "Do not wait for me tonight."

A week later, maesters and midwives gathered in Dyanna's rooms, their fear palpable. They had never delivered a woman who had survived the corroding disease and yet the child arrived as swiftly as Aerion, a third boy and not the girl Daeron had hoped for. And still, when they placed the tiny newborn in his arms and he saw the eyes, wide open and staring – staring! – straight at his, he felt the same unbridled joy that he had experienced at the births of his older, eagerly awaited grandsons.

"Aemon," he said without thinking. "We'll name him Aemon, Maekar."

Only when his son looked at Dyanna did he realize that Maekar and his wife may have had their own ideas of how to name their new son. But then, Dyanna shrugged and Maekar smiled. "Very well," he said. "Aemon it is."

It was only fitting for a boy that Daeron had the sudden, odd conviction would be closer to him than any of his older grandsons. The name of a good and fair man who had always reined in the storms in his heart, done the right thing. _Please,_ Daeron thought. _Please do the right thing one day._

Because by now, he was sadly certain that no matter what he would do, there would be someone for whom it would not be the right thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Rising Shadows Marring Light

Chapter 2

"A lion."

"It's now in the Queen's Garden. It's going to stay there for another week before it's finally brought to the menagerie."

"Is there even a spot there that's suitable for a lion? They've been rare in Westeros for hundreds of years."

"Well, they're building it right now. They say it'll have grass, a dry moat, and even a few rocks, to make the cub think it's in the mountains."

"The Lyseni sent Prince Aemon a lion."

"I wish this week was over already," Dyanna snapped. "So they can find something else to talk about!"

Startled by the anger in his mother's voice, Aerion turned back on his way to the door to see what was going on. Dyanna waved him off.

"Keep your voice down if you please." There was iron in Mariah's soft voice. "There is no need to scare the children."

Even the babe's wetnurse was giving her mistress a look of confusion. Aemon stirred and gave a soft cry. Dyanna immediately felt the wetness staining the thick bandages holding her breasts and that made her even gloomier. Would her milk never dry up? Her son was two months old already and he had never been put to her breast. How long could milk kept coming?

The lion cub in the cage mewled and the wetnurse on the terrace recoiled, as if that was a real roar. In the garden, young girls covered their faces and pretended to be afraid so they could be soothed by a gallant knight. Dyanna's mood soured further, especially when she saw Jena crossing the garden and stopping before the cage for a moment. Guilt ate at her and she couldn't understand why. She had never wished any harm on Jena's babes. Was she to blame simply because she had turned out to be as fertile as the Queen? It made no sense. But the attention her newborn was getting was making her feel uncomfortable and as if she needed to make excuses for the lavish gifts bestowed upon them, a lion cub among them. Of course, Matarys had received no less but the celebrations of his birth had melted into the wild relief of the end of the rebellion.

Abruptly, Dyanna rose. "I'm going to the cub," she announced. "Would you come with us, Your Grace?"

No matter what, this was her babe's presence and it felt like inviting bad luck to ponder on how unwelcome it was. The magisters of Lys had probably thought they had made a gesture of good will.

"I'll take him," Mariah said immediately and Dyanna didn't mind. Aemon looked at his grandmother and snuggled up to her contently. Could he feel that save for his parents, the Queen was the only one who enjoyed him without taking into consideration things like assumed division and forcing him into the spotlight where many feel that he did not belong?

Dyanna went close to the cage and stared at the little captive. The golden-brown fur was still soft. The glint of many small teeth fascinated her. Aemon was the same age as the lion cub but it would take considerably longer time for him to get those! She smiled at the notion and then, the two babes unwittingly kept the comparison running when the lion gave a cry and Aemon responded likewise.

Fortunately, there were moments like this to dissolve the shadow of feeling blamed and unneeded, and pushed into a part that was not her own at all.

* * *

The news of the clash arrived on a raven's wings when the last light of the sun was fading away, the bird feeling it in its very bones and flapping desperately in a surge to reach the location it had been trained for before night tried to deflect him from his way.

"Which one is this for the last week?" Baelor finally asked, ending the long silence following the otherwise minor bit of news. "The third one?"

"Fourth," the Hand of the King said darkly.

At least it wasn't a military one. No one had lost a life or limb in a raid like the ones people on both sides of the Dornish Marches were accustomed to. Those were disagreements over the rules of trade, the right of passing, prices, discounts, quarters, and timing of passing. Refusal to acknowledge the right of the lord or lady in whose lands a wrong had taken place if the supposed perpetrator was a man from the opposite side of the Marches… and a refusal to accept the authority of the castellan of Summerhall.

"Are they even aware that they're committing treason?" Brynden asked mildly, his red eye glinting a cold warning to someone who wasn't there. "The castellan of Summerhall speaks with the King's voice."

Baelor seemed uncomfortable with the suggestion that wasn't even spoken yet.

"And I seem to have made a mistake," Daeron admitted reluctantly, for no man wished to admit his mistakes. "Ser Donel was a good and just man. A strong one. But he was of advanced age even five years ago and I accepted without thinking that he'd stay so for many years to come. I should have given him some equally capable but younger aides."

"Your Grace, you couldn't have known…"

Daeron waved his Hand's objection to excuse his lapse of judgment off. "I should have. He isn't the first man of age to lose the alacrity of his mind without realizing it. But there's no use to discuss my failings now. Let's focus on remedying the situation. Do you have any suggestions? I really don't want to lose the time of the Small Council with such matters."

What did the Master of Ships know about preserving peace on dry land, after all? And Daeron certainly wasn't going to bribe men and buy peace this way, so it wasn't the Master of Coin's business either.

Brynden looked reluctant to let go of his suggestion of a dire warning but if Daeron had said that they'd try in another way, he'd do his best to find this way. "I suggest that we send someone who's important enough to take Ser Donel's duties without anyone being able to complain that he wouldn't obey their authority because of this or that. Of course, this man's loyalty has to be beyond any doubt."

It had to be, indeed. Daeron had already given lands and authority to someone who had used them as a base to destroy him and everyone he loved.

"Perhaps it's for the best," Baelor said and looked away in the yellow candlelight of the King's study.

The other two looked surprised at his words because they weren't a logical response to what Brynden had said at all, and Daeron felt sick because now he knew for sure that Baelor was plagued by the same fears that haunted him. The fears that were too shameful to say aloud.

 _Perhaps he won't know_ , he tried to comfort himself. _I will turn it into an honour._

But of course, Maekar did know. Not that he said anything to this effect. How could he? It _was_ a great generosity, a seat of his own. But just by looking at him, Daeron realized that he had been unable to hide the shameful doubts. Maekar could see the grand gesture for what it was – acknowledgment but also making sure that he'd never be able to make trouble, too busy trying to maintain some accord between their old subjects and new. There was no way for him or the boys one day to align them into a front against Baelor. And Jena was from the Marches. That would make such a task an especially hard one. No, Maekar would work and be rewarded for that – and Dyanna too, with her charm and wits that were certain to be a great help – but they'd be kept safely away from any chance of committing treason.

"We'd like it there," Maekar only said after expressing a formal thanks, and Daeron felt a pang of helpless worry at realizing that despite everything, his son would feel better away from talks and whispers, and doubts that he had no way to dispel.

"Of course they'd like it there," Mariah said when he told her the news – he didn't dare let her know from anyone else, for the storm that she'd make would rage for weeks. "That's what worries me."

Hearing his concerns being confirmed like this didn't bring him any relief due to his accurate judgment. "Are you going to talk to him?" he asked and she gave him a look that he had almost forgotten. The look he hadn't seen since the time they had realized what Rhaegel was like. The time when she had been putting the blame on him.

"That's between him and me," she said – another unwelcome echo of a period when she had considered Daeron an enemy. A threat to their boys. She hadn't said it this way, of course. She had simply started taking the moon tea. Then. What would she do now?

* * *

"Are you going to come back?"

"Yes, of course."

"When you don't have to?" she insisted.

He looked away and she knew that she had asked the right question, leaving him no room for wiggling.

"Not if I can avoid it. I'm sorry, Mother, but I really think it's for the best. Now, the fools here won't be able to try and paint me as something I never tried to be. And Dyanna has lost any interest in living at court. Everyone will calm down this way."

"Not me."

Maekar gave her an odd smile. "Really? Even if I tell you that I loathe that place that I found myself occupying against my choosing? That sometimes, I loathe Father for being ready to believe in the shadow of a threat lying tongues are trying to spin? That I loathe Baelor for the same thing?"

"Do you loathe me?"

"No," he said. "But let's be fair, Mother. You're of no use to me and I'm of no use to you. As long as I'm here, you'll only have troubles with Father, blaming him for feeling the way he can't help but feel. Once I leave, not to be here every day, the edge will smooth out. Are you going to make trouble if I don't come back anytime soon?"

"It won't be of any use from this far, will it?"

They sat silent for a while in the solar overlooking Dyanna's garden. The sight of the purple star kisses in the circular flower bed flaming dark red in the fading sunlight suddenly pained Mariah. Dyanna had fought so hard to have them grow this far north. They had only come out this year – and soon, Dyanna would leave.

"Will you remember," she said, "that this decision was made without my participation? Will you remember that whatever happens, I never shared those fears and I'll always want you to come back?"

"I will come back. But things can never be the way they were, Mother. It's no use wanting the impossible."

"When?" she asked, determined to ignore the second part of his words.

He laughed, suddenly amused by that display of the same obstinacy that he had often been reprimanded for. "Soon," he said. "Dyanna is with child. We'll have to present him or her at court."

Tears sprang to Mariah's eyes. Why had things fallen apart so badly? Why this new life had to start in the grasping net of insecurities, faults and blame when there should have been none?

"Don't tell anyone," Maekar warned. "We aren't certain yet. But all signs are there. We want to leave as soon as possible, before she starts throwing up."

"But Summerhall is not ready to accommodate you right now!" Mariah protested. "Especially if Dyanna is indeed with child. There are hard times ahead of you, Maekar. Why are you so eager for them to start?"

He smiled and in this smile, she saw just how grating life at King's Landing had become for him. And then, the smile changed to a genuine one. "Nothing can be too hard, Mother," he said and looked at the door leading to Dyanna's chambers. "I have her."

Fear grasped her like a vice. What if something happened? What if this babe killed Dyanna? What would he have then? Fortunately, he did not look at her because Mariah was sure that her feelings were writ on her face.

Slowly, the sun started crawling downward and from floor and corners, shadows rose marring the sunlight before it finally gave way to a sunset so red that it seemed to be weeping blood.

 **The End**


End file.
